I want to take bad photos
I love taking photos, but I don’t want to take good ones.
In my past life as a blogger and YouTuber, I spent years mastering every technical aspect of videography. The goal was that nothing I wanted to do should ever be out of reach. It took countless hours of theory and practice, but I got there.
When I started getting into photography a few years ago, I did the exact same thing. I went deep into the fundamentals, explored and practiced every genre and aspect I thought I’d need, and eventually reached the point where technique is no longer a limitation. If the results suck now, it’s because that’s the best I can do—not because I’m missing some piece of knowledge.
Lately, though, I’ve been rethinking all of it, and I’ve realized I got the whole concept wrong. I’m going to have to unlearn almost everything I’ve learned.
This project isn’t about photography. It’s about how a human slowly fades, turns into a ghost, and disconnects from the world around it while the world quietly disconnects from it in return. Nobody looks twice. Nobody cares. Nobody remembers you once you’ve walked past. Photography is just one layer of the real project: a record of that vanishing act.
When a photographer sets up a shot—thinking about light, composition, the relationship between subject and environment, all the usual stuff—they’re engaging with the world. Everything around them feeds into the work; it’s raw material they shape into the image they want.
My goal is the opposite: to drift through whatever place I’m in without ever really connecting to it, just grabbing whatever details catch my eye from some other plane of reality. It’s not that I don’t want to plan or refine shots to make them “good”—trying to make them good is itself a contamination. It defeats the entire point of becoming a ghost.
